Gemma’s stomach rumbled, and that spurred her into action. She wasn’t wearing any shoes, but at least she’d put on a sundress over her bikini, otherwise she’d have real trouble trying to get a table at the restaurant.

Since Penn and Lexi were always off shopping, Gemma decided to check the trunk of Sawyer’s car and see if the sirens had accidentally left any shoes behind. When she popped the trunk, it turned out better than she’d hoped.

There were several bags with clothes spilling out. She found a pair of flip-flops pretty early on, and then discovered the real prize—a purse containing several hundred dollars and one of Sawyer’s credit cards. That was great, since Gemma hadn’t thought to grab money when she made her escape.

The steakhouse seemed kind of fancy, so Gemma continued to search through the clothes in hopes of finding a nicer dress than the one she wore. She grabbed some fabric with a flower print on it, and before she’d pulled it out enough to determine if it was a skirt or a dress, she saw dark red splotches all over it.

It was unmistakable. The fabric was stained with blood.

Her heart thudded dully in her chest. Once she realized what she was holding, she dropped it in a hurry, not wanting to touch the blood. Hurriedly, she slipped on the flip-flops, grabbed the purse, and slammed the trunk shut.

Gemma stared down at the trunk, swallowing hard and slowing the panic rising in her chest. She knew the sirens were monsters. She had to assume that they did bad things. But she couldn’t think about it. She couldn’t do anything about it, at least not right now.

The best she could do was get herself under control, eat something before she freaked out, and then decide how she was going to deal with the situation.

She had to walk through a long alley to get around to the front of the restaurant, and that gave her time to calm down and cool off. By the time she reached the front door, she felt normal enough to smile at the maître’d.

The straps of her bikini were showing, and she was clearly underdressed. It wasn’t a super-upscale place, but it was nice enough that flip-flops and a sundress shouldn’t have cut it. The maître’d looked as if he were about to tell her just that, but then she smiled at him, and everything changed.

He apologized profusely that he couldn’t find her a table right away and asked her to wait at the bar until one opened up. Gemma told him not to hurry, afraid he might actually kick people out to make room for her.